Summer Promises
by AshesGleamandGlow
Summary: Minerva McGonagall was not the kind of woman who stood by doing nothing when she knew someone was in a bad situation. She knew Harry fit the bill, but couldn't prove it. Feeling horrible, she vows to help him. ONE-SHOT AU, for the QLFC


_**Position:** Keeper_

 _ **Prompt:** Minerva McGonagall_

 _ **Word Count:** 1,140_

 ** _000_**

Minerva McGonagall was not the kind of woman who stood by doing nothing when she knew someone was in a bad situation and she could do something about it. She knew that sometimes the only way one could do something was if one could prove beyond the shadow of a doubt that something bad was happening to someone else. This just happened to be one of those times, and so whenever she had the chance, Minerva took it upon herself to keep an eye on Harry and the Dursleys.

Of course, she wouldn't exactly be discreet enough to catch the Dursleys red handed if she were to simply conduct herself as the rest of the inhabitants of Privet Drive. No, for such a delicate operation, she employed what muggles would likely call her ace; her animagus form. Stray cats aren't exactly a rarity in most urban areas, but touched little old cat ladies sure are. Luckily for Minerva, no matter how suspicious it was, a touched little old cat lady had moved in shortly after Harry's arrival at his relatives. Poor Arabella's cats were everywhere, so no one even batted an eye at her presence.

Soon, Minerva was spending most of her weekends and holidays stationed near the Dursleys, keeping an eye on them and secretly watching young Harry grow up. She managed like that just fine for a few years, until Harry and his cousin were first sent to school. At that point, Minerva discovered just how much she'd missed pretending to just be one of Arabella's cats.

It was a fine spring morning, school had recently ended for the year, and Minerva was looking forward to seeing how Harry was doing. She hadn't been able to sneak away as much these past few months, Pomona had started suspecting something was up and had the nerve to ask about her personal life! No, she hadn't found someone to keep her bed warm, why would she want someone to keep her bed warm! Where had she even heard that term from?

It was with these thoughts in mind that Minerva, in cat form, snuck her way into the Dursley backyard.

First she saw the woman of the household, Petunia Dursley. She was almost hidden within the clinging vines on the fence that separated her own backyard from her neighbor's, her long neck out to good use as she peered over, straining to see something on the other side. Next, Minerva saw the Dursley boy, Dudley, playing some sort of handheld game under a small tree. Finally, her gaze landed on Harry, who was playing in his aunt's flower bed. Although from what she could see from where she was, for a four year old boy, Harry didn't seem to be having much fun playing in the dirt. With a certain sense of morbid curiosity, suspecting she'd finally discovered her proof, while dearly hoping it wasn't so, she creeped closer to the small Potter boy.

The feline nose, while not as keen as that of a dog's, is far better than the typical human nose. As such, scents that would take a human standing right next to the source to smell, cats can detect scents, some slightly easier than others, from much further away.

She smelled the tears and the blood before she saw either. Harry Potter, all of four years and eleven months, was weeding the flower bed by himself, with no gloves or proper tools, in almost direct sun, while both, _both_ , his aunt and cousin were in the shade and enjoying themselves. Harry's hands were scratched and scraped, blood seeping slowly through the worst of the wounds as tears streamed silently down his pale, thin face.

 _He was only four_ , and yet _he_ was the one weeding the flower bed, _not his aunt_ , who wasn't even doing anything physically straining besides the straining of her neck as she tried to see what the neighbors were up to. It wasn't right. It was so far beyond "right" that it twisted Minerva's stomach.

Minerva McGonagall was the type of woman who took action without always thinking things through. She embodied the Gryffindor traits in such a masterful way you almost couldn't help but think of her as the Lioness of Hogwarts. Looking at the silently suffering four year old, watching those tears stream down his face as he determinedly pulled weed after weed, with her heart crying out to her, _"Do something!"_ and her brain fixated on the pain she saw in his eyes, she took action.

Stalking forward, Minerva edged closer to Harry slowly, purposefully, not wanting to take him by surprise. She was soon standing in front of him, putting a paw on his hands to stop him from pulling any more weeds. Harry jerked slightly, apparently having not seen her until then. Finally, Harry made a noise.

"Hi, Kitty," he whispered softly, so quietly it was likely the only reason she heard it was because she was right there. Harry gave a slight semblance of a smile as she gently started licking his hands, cleaning them the best she could in this form. Her heart ached for this small boy.

When his hands were cleaned up, Minerva shot a quick glance at his aunt before she started cleaning his face of tears, holding herself upright by resting her paws on his shoulders. She'd only done part of his face when he gently grasped her paws and pushed her away. Looking at him in curiosity, she saw he was upset about something.

"I sorry, Kitty, Aunt 'Tunia won' like it if she see you. I dun' wan' you to get hurt!" Harry whispered in childish, broken English, pleasantly surprising her with how literate he was. He was an abused four year old, she honestly hadn't known what to expect. "You gotta go, Kitty!"

She was tempted to stay anyway, but Minerva had a feeling she'd just make Harry's life worse if she did. Perhaps it was the fear she saw in his face, or the fact she knew what Petunia Dursley and her husband, Vernon, were willing to do. It may have even been her personal knowledge of abused children; Minerva gave Harry's hand one last kiss before she departed, but as she did, she couldn't help looking back and making a silent promise, to both Harry herself.

 _"One day. One day I'll help you, Harry. Don't worry Harry, I refuse to let this go on."_

Minerva McGonagall was not the type of woman to turn her back on children in need. Doing so now felt like she was ripping her heart out and trampling on it, but her promise helped dull that pain. Minerva was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them.


End file.
